


Messenger of War

by elletromil



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Folklore, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Ares!Harry, Dryad-like fae!Roxy, Fix-It, Hermes!Eggsy, M/M, Oberon!Percival, actual merlin!merlin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-03-25 19:27:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3822031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elletromil/pseuds/elletromil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He shivers at the brief contact of a hand on his shoulder and he forces the ripple of familiarity back down, but something in Harry’s eyes before he turns back and leaves hints that he is not the only one feeling it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> So this was all inspired by a picture of Eggsy in his shoes with the wings followed by a post about mythology on my dash and it made me thing “What if Eggsy was Hermes?”.
> 
> Personally, I really like the fic, because it’s something I’ve always loves doing mixing things together to see how well they could fit, meshing different mythos together just for the sake of it. It’s the first time I’ll publish something like this though and I hope at least some of you will enjoy reading it. I sure hope it isn’t confusing, because I am the first to admit I’m not the best at writing down clearly the ideas I get something.

As Eggsy watches the bodies hit the floor one after the other, the man moving efficiently across the room, there’s only one thought circling his mind. _I recognize this fighting style._

He shouldn’t, there is no way that he could, even during his brief stint in the marines no one came even close to the level of contained aggression the man reaches, but he feels as if there’s something trying to emerge from the confines of his mind while he admires the dance of violence.

Once every men in the pub have been dealt with, the man sits back down to finish his beer and a name escapes his lips, but not the one he’s been given when he left the police station earlier.

“Ares…”

Ares looks up, eyes wide in surprise, only to narrow them suspiciously before something makes him nod in understanding.

“Hermes,” he says in return and for the first time in his life, Hermes gets that moment of painful clarity, the world finally settling into place, but it only lasts a second before his breath catches in his chest and he starts panicking when he can’t seem to pull oxygen into his lungs.

“Breathe Eggsy, breathe.” A hand settles on top of his and he has no choice but to obey Harry’s command. “That’s it, deep breaths, you’re doing fine.”

It’s a moment more before he feels the panic rescinding and he manages to get his breathing back under control.

“What the fuck was that?”

“Don’t.” Harry's sharp tone stops him before he can think too hard about what just happened. “You’re clearly not ready yet. You have to let it all come back naturally if you don’t want to go through another panic attack.”

Eggsy snorts derisively because that’s like telling someone to not picture an elephant and expect them to actually not visualize it. But he also has no desire to relive what he experienced just yet and it is easier than he would have thought to push it all back.

The moment is shattered when Harry reaches for his wristwatch. “However, this doesn’t change the fact that I shouldn’t have done this in front of you. I am so very sorry.”

Eggsy feels a whole new different panic rising in his chest because even if he doesn’t understand what happened just then, even if he just imagined that glimpse into something _other_ and _familiar_ , he also very much doesn’t want to forget what he just witnessed, doesn’t want to forget about the one person who seemed to really give a damn about his bad life-decisions since a long time. Even if he still feels that the man had no rights to pass judgement.

So he begs Harry not to do it, because if there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s keeping his mouth shut and he’s so relieved when Harry just nobs. He shivers at the brief contact of a hand on his shoulder and he forces the ripple of _familiarity_ back down, but something in Harry’s eyes before he turns back and leaves hints that he is not the only one feeling it.

*

Hermes is in front of the mirror, looking in the reflection of Ares’ eyes standing behind him, because it is easier to see the truth in the in-between worlds of the glass.

“Would you have offered had I been a simple boy?”

Ares rolls his eyes, but looks more exasperated than insulted. “It’s the potential I see in the “simple boy” that makes me offer.”

Hermes only hears honesty in his voice and he inclines his head in acceptance before looking away from the mirror.

“So Eggsy, what is your answer?”

Eggsy takes a moment to look at the gentleman behind him, before nodding with a smirk. “It’s not like I have much to lose anyway.”

“But you have much to gain.”

Eggsy’s smirk morphs into a true smile at the warmth in Harry’s gaze as he reaches to press his hand against the mirror.

*

Eggsy stands up with the others to look at Amelia’s unmoving form and can’t resist saying something really insensitive. He would feel bad about it, if not for the fact he _knows_ that the girl is still alive. Exactly how he has this knowledge is still a bit unclear, but it’s the same way he knows that Amelia isn’t human.

_Nixe_

He never heard the word but he knows it is what she truly is, as he knows Roxy is the only other one in the group of recruits who isn’t a mere human. He can’t say precisely what yet, but the way she reacts to the apparent death of a friendly acquaintance only further his belief that she’s more than she appears to be and that she, too, sees beyond the surface of the mortal world.

And now Eggsy’s head is seriously starting to hurt.

*

Merlin takes him to the side the next morning, looking stern. “Don’t think I’ll go easy on you because of who you are.”

He’s about to tell him he’s saying this to the wrong candidate, because Eggsy is a nobody compared to all those snob dickheads, when it suddenly dawns on him what he is referring to. He can only laugh once the realisation hits him, because he himself isn’t sure of who he is anymore, so why would he expect any preferential treatment?

Cold water pouring on him kills his rising hysteria right in the bud. Or at least, he thinks it is somehow raining down on him while he’s still inside the manor, but it takes only a few seconds to confirm he’s still completely dry.

“Calmer now?” Merlin raises an eyebrow in interrogation and _unh_ that mischievous smile is definite proof that the older man has something to do with his feeling of being completely drenched.

“I hope that’s not the best you got.”

Merlin’s amused snort is not the usual reaction to his display of cockiness, but it’s a nice change.

*

Eggsy walks into the infirmary room, nearly running into Arthur. He can feel himself bristle at the old man’s poorly concealed sneer when he strides by him to leave, but he’s more worried about Harry’s unconscious form than the obvious lack of respect from a man who can’t see further away than his nose.

He finds himself missing the olden days where holding such contempt towards anyone for no valid reason still brought consequences. But deities aren’t the only ones slumbering it seems and mortals have grown arrogant in their perceived unchallenged ownership of this reality.

“How is he?” Eggsy asks while he sits down on the chair at his bedside, not daring to take Harry’s hand in his.

“For all intents and purposes he’s fine. But I have no idea by what he’s been hit.” There’s only frustration and helplessness in Merlin’s voice and he can understand why. Even if he’s only now slowly starting to navigate between the edges of human perception, he knows that them being gods in no way means they are immortals. They might have been as good as once, but things have long since changed, even if they must still be hard to kill judging by Harry’s age in relation to his current profession.

“I’ll give you a moment, but what you should do is focus on your training.” Merlin pats him briefly on the shoulder before leaving, but the contact is just enough for Hermes to be able to look at the tendrils of magic surrounding the unconscious form on the bed protectively. _Oh_.

Men truly _are_ blind if they cannot even see those who make no efforts to hide.

*

He comes to the infirmary as much as he can, but not as much as he _wants_ to. Kingsman’s training is hard and the only reason he isn’t more exhausted is due to that nervous energy coursing through his veins as he starts seeing more and more of the world as it truly is.

Harry still makes no sign of waking up, but the _sick_ tendrils he had noticed around his body are slowly losing their fight against Merlin’s. The man had explained, one of those time they were both at Harry’s bedside at the same time, that while he still doesn’t know what exactly is affecting the man, it has to do with magic.

It would have been hopeless, had Merlin not been a powerful warlock himself. It might have been a long time since he dealt with other magic users, but some things are simply impossible to forget.

He never clearly says it, but Eggsy can read among the lines of the man’s stories of long past wars fought alongside Harry, understands that while Merlin is a Kingsman’s title, for the man it is also his _true_ identity.

It’s why one afternoon, after Arthur has left the room frustrated by the seemingly lack of progress concerning Harry’s condition and Merlin and Eggsy take their usual spots on the uncomfortable chairs, that he blurts out his question.

“Please tell me that’s not your Arthur?”

Merlin looks so insulted, Eggsy thinks he’s committed a grave error, that this Arthur is also _Arthur_ , and yes the man is an old git, but surely he has some redeeming qualities he’s never seen because he hasn’t work with the man yet. Before he can find a way to back-pedalled, Merlin interrupts his panicked thoughts. “Heavens no,” and the sheer horror in Merlin’s voice shouldn’t be funny, but it _is_ kind of hilarious, especially when the wizard goes on. “Arthur _was_ a royal prat, but he wasn’t so much of a dickhead.”

They laugh it off and Merlin starts telling him about the fun Harry had messing with that General a long time ago. It’s all in good-humor, except now Eggsy plainly sees the yearning usually kept hidden in the eyes of a man he’s starting to consider a friend and he deeply wishes there was something he could do to help.

But he can’t.

Not yet.

*

“So what are you?”

Roxy and he are enjoying one of their rare moments free of any kind of trial, lounging in the grass without a care. Eggsy would have used the time to go see Harry, but since he already sneaked in once this morning, he doesn’t want to abuse the leeway Merlin allows him.

His confused look at the woman he’s now calling a friend, if only in his own thoughts, prompts her to clarify her somewhat vague question. “I mean, you _are_ something more, I can feel it most of the times. But I just can’t quite put my finger on what exactly and it’s not because of a glamour or anything like this, _that_ I would have recognized.”

Hermes finally understands what she’s asking and answers a bit sheepishly, because he’s not used to being so slow. “Oh, _that_ , well, I’m Hermes, you know the Greek god?” he feels the need to add even if Roxy probably doesn’t need the clarification. “But like, not all the time?” It might seem like a weird thing to say, but it is the simple truth. He’s still alternating between Eggsy and Hermes, sometimes the two meshing together, but it never lasts long.

Roxy nods, even if her small frown implies she doesn’t really gets what he’s saying.

“What about you?” he asks in return after a moment, because he hasn’t got that moment of knowing with her yet, which was frustrating, but now that she has mentioned it, he guesses the reason it has remained a mystery to him so far is because of some of that glamour. She smiles in lieu of answering and the air around her seems to shimmer before he gets a hint of her true self. If he thought she was beautiful before, it’s nothing compared to her when she isn’t hiding.

“A Dryad,” as soon as he says it, he knows it’s not entirely true and Roxy soon confirms it.

“Close enough. Had I been older, that would have been what I was, but since I’m not, I’m more Fae than Nymph.”

Which means that, while she is a spirit of nature, she isn’t one of the lesser deities that had been common in Hermes’ time. Not that it surprises him. The Nymphs had always been bounded to physical aspects of the mortal world and they must had stayed even after the gods and goddesses’ retreat. But their spiritual side must had forced them to adapt to their sudden lack of divine connection and they had latched on the next best thing: magic. Even if most of the Fae seemed to also have forsaken the mortal realm, those who chose to remain aren’t cut-off from the magic that makes their existence possible.

After that, they change subject, start talking about their childhood, because turns out Roxy really is young, even by human standard. In fact, they are both the same age. He can’t help but feel a bit envious though when it becomes clear Roxy always knew who she was, never had to go through life with that feeling at the back of her mind that something wasn’t quite right, that something might even be missing. She never had to deal with the feeling of being tear out in two or the feeling of battling against herself to stay conscious without ever losing control over her actions.

However his envy doesn’t linger, not when he has so few persons that he can relate to. And they might still be in competition for the position as a Kingsman, but with her it’s all fun and games, he can honestly say he would be damn proud to lose against her. She actually makes it a real challenge because she too has an unfair advantage that she would be a fool not to use and she has much more control over it than he could hope to achieve before the end of the training.

And there are those moments where it’s not about Eggsy and Roxy competing for becoming Lancelot, it’s about them both against the world.

Like that test where he is hiding with Charlie and he has to shoot Roxy’s balloon. He is convinced he will miss the shot because they are hiding in bushes and he has that sense of _Roxy_ all around him, except he hits his target and when he gets up and Charlie tries to follow suit, the other only falls over and over again until he finds out his legs are wrapped in vines and roots. Instead of helping him out, Hermes laughs and laughs because _yes_ he had missed this, he had missed that feeling of just _retribution_. And when he meets up with Roxy and they share a shit-eating grin, it feels like _both_ their victory.

Or that other time they are plummeting fast towards the Earth, with Roxy panicking, not that he can blame her. She’s isn’t a celestial being, used to the sky and the wind, nor is she a water sprite who could be persuaded to consider all of this as a swim in a great new ocean. She is a wood Fae, she’s used to the feeling of roots grounding her firmly in the soil.

But one of them doesn’t have a parachute and there is no way he’s letting her get hurt nor is he dying today, so he keeps calm, he gets through to her. And that moment before they deploy her ‘chute, where they both grab on each other tight? They’re not _trusting_ each other. They’re putting _faith_ in the other and, that?

That feels like coming home.

*

Turns out they all had ‘chutes and that Merlin is a dick.

He _really_ likes the man.

*

When Harry finally wakes up, he doesn’t get to spend a lot of time with him before he’s gone on a mission to gather information on Valentine. Eggsy would have been proud to have been the one coming up with the lead, but he can’t, not when it took being in Ares and Merlin’s presence to really feel the hypnotic pull the man had on everyone while giving his speech. Richmond Valentine is not a mere mortal and Eggsy is really getting fed up at having one foot in each world and missing things so important.

It helps that nor Harry nor Merlin seem to be disappointed by his failure, but barely.

It’s only when Harry gets back and they meet in one of the study in the manor that Eggsy manages to put it behind him, at least for now.

Harry slides a box towards him and just nods encouragingly when Eggsy raises a questioning eyebrow.

He doesn’t wait for another invitation and when he finally sees what is in the box, a delighted laughs escapes him.

“Now, it isn’t something I would usually buy, however it felt as if it would match your usual _wear_.” The way he says that last word make it perfectly clear what he truly thinks about how he dresses. “Nevertheless, I couldn’t resist once I saw the wings.”

Hermes’ cheeks are hurting from smiling so much, but he doesn’t care at all. “Thanks Ares,” he ends up saying after lightly tracing the wings on the shoes with reverent fingertips.

There’s a twitch in his expression gone too fast for Hermes to properly identify it, but before he can ask about it, the other man is standing up and he knows he must be busy with everything going on, but he had wished they would get a bit longer together.

*

Eggsy puts on the new shoes for the honeypot test and smiles when he sees how well it completes his outfit. A gentleman he might not look like, but he’s got _style_.

Not that style helps him much once he’s bound on train’s tracks with a madman asking him about Kingsman and Harry Hart. Hermes wants to laugh in the man’s face because in the grand scheme of things, those questions don’t matter at all.

He would care a bit more about his imminent death, if he didn’t know that it would just unleash Ares’ rage on the world. He only wishes he was there to see it.

However, it soon turns out it was only another test and when he looks up after the train has passed to see Ares standing at his feet, he only snorts.

“Really?”

“I never had any doubts you’d be able to keep your mouth shut.” He’s already kneeling at his side to cut the rope, smile both proud and feral. Even had he only been a mere mortal he would not have talk, but secrecy is becoming more and more second nature to him lately. Mortals are not yet ready to deal with what they truly are, and Eggsy with his feet in both worlds needs to be doubly prudent not to slip up.

The hand that helps him stand up is warm and strong, making him wish he could keep holding on that one point of stability in his life. Instead, he lets go, his hand dropping down at his side, and grins when Harry asks him if he wants to see how Charlie does for himself.

 _That_ he wouldn’t miss for the world.

*

They’re currently drinking Eggsy’s attempts at making martinis and for the first time since they’ve met, Harry starts talking about what he had really been doing all those years, travelling the world, looking for his fellow gods and goddesses. He’s met several, just not the ones he was really looking for. He couldn’t care less of the Egyptians, the Hindus or Mayans deities.

Those he wanted to find were his pantheon, his _family_ , these little flickers of life he could feel at the edge of his consciousness that made him hope for the best.

From Ares’ anguished voice as he is recalling that part of his life, a time before he even met Merlin, it is clear Hermes is the first one he came across. He cannot begin to imagine how isolated the other god must have felt, because when Hermes concentrates on what is at the edge of his own perception, he can feel the flickering fires of life he is describing, but they are all outshined by the roaring fire that is Ares. He could never feel alone with that beacon of _home_.

It doesn’t change the fact Hermes wants to kiss that loneliness away, has wanted to for longer than he’s comfortable admitting, but he wouldn’t be doing Ares any favors, not when he’s still being torn between two state of beings, not when he has yet to become the companion Ares deserves.

But the old longing he feels in Harry is unbearable and Eggsy has no qualms pretending to be drunker than he is and to sag against his side, his soft giggles only partly for effects. There’s a long-suffering sigh from the man, but also an arm snaking around his waist to better hold him up as he relocates them to the sofa.

Eggsy doesn’t peel himself from his side and Harry doesn’t remove his arm.

*

Eggsy doesn’t have to wonder long about Harry sharp ‘Don’t’, the command making him think back to their first meeting all those months ago.

At first he thinks it’s because of Valentine, but as soon as the woman follows him out the fitting room, he knows that she’s the one dangerous.

It’s a close call, but he manages not to vomit from the wave of twistedness that rolls off of her. Hermes tries to focus on Ares and Valentine’s exchange instead of continuing to look at her, because no way does he want to _know_ what she is. Whatever it is, it’s cruel and wild and makes him want to run away in terror.

He can only breathe again once they leave the shop.

“A Wendigo,” Ares offers without prompting and, at the knowledge that comes with the word, he would have preferred if he hadn’t say a thing.

*

Arthur asks him to shoot the dog and he doesn’t think the man appreciate how close he was to getting his own skull blown.

He leaves with JB in a trance-like state, steals a car and it’s a wonder he didn’t cause an accident on the way to his mum’s place.

What the fuck is Ares thinking working for people willing to shoot dogs willy-nilly like this? He knows deities don’t have the best track record for their treatment and punishment of human beings, but they at least had the decency to mostly leave the innocents well the fuck alone.

He’s still seething when his mum gets back and he sees her black eyes and that’s the last straw. She’s made bad choices, yes, but she’s always been good to him and Hermes won’t let Dean get away with it any longer. Especially not with Daisy in the house, not when he can feel the little girl's power slowly wakening. She might not be his priestess, even he can tell that much about what little he can glean from her, but he doesn’t care. Whatever gods or goddesses she will attend to isn’t there to protect her right now.

He should have known it was a mistake not to get out of the taxi as soon as he got to Dean, should have known better but to continue to use the damn vehicle, but he’s not thinking clearly.

When he finally gets in front of Ares, he’s still lost in righteous rage and before the other god can start on the dressing down he can sense burning his lips, he starts shouting.

“What the fuck? You shot your dog? Or is it only a practice they’ve gone into because you get off on being sacrificed innocent puppies? I don’t even know why I’m surprised! You’re fucking Ares, god of War, you’re probably running around instigating them around the world for your own sick enjoyment and-”

He had seen the flinch when he had mentioned the sacrifice of puppies, but he isn’t prepared for the ire that paints Ares’ face at the last part, nor is he prepared to being slammed against the wall violently.

“ _These_ ,” his voice is barely controlled and colder than Hades’ halls, “are not wars. _These_ are bloody _slaughters_.” He lets go of Hermes and it’s only the wall at his back that stops him from falling on the ground. “There is no more honor in war, there has not been for a long time. I wish I could change it, but I can’t! My only resort is to try and nipping conflicts in the bud, but do you have any idea how hard it is to do day after day? Men are like hydras, each time I stop one, two more rise to try and destroy the world! They’ve gone too long unchallenged and I sincerely wish I could be to one to do so, but Eggsy, I am _alone_ …”

His tirade breaks off and his distress is worse to bear witness to than his fury. Hermes starts reaching for him, his voice small even in his own ears. “Ares,” he starts, his heart breaking when the other god’s expression just seem to fall even more and he starts shaking his head, as if he’s given up. Before Hermes can reassure him that he isn’t alone, won’t have to be ever again, they’re interrupt by Merlin and his face closes off in an indifferent mask.

He wants to say something, but Ares holds up his hand to stop him.

“Just, just stay put. I’ll figure something out when I get back.”

There is nothing he can do but watch Ares leave, the other’s regret leaving a bitter aftertaste in his mouth even if he gets the feeling he’s not disappointed about him not having shot JB, but about something that’s still going 10 feet over his head.

*

Harry is shot and his entire world shatters.

For a while he doesn’t know what to do, because that wasn’t supposed to happen. Harry _can’t_ die.

But Harry is dead, he’s just been killed by a lunatic who pretends to want a new world order but in fact just wants to bring back all the flaws of the past. He remembers his thoughts of just retribution and if there is ever going to be a time when he needs to get off his ass and takes action, this is it.

So he goes back to the shop where Arthur seems to have been waiting for him and the first thing that makes it past his lips is this. “Arthur… Harry’s dead.” He’s been repeating it in an endless loop inside his head since he saw the feed, but saying it out loud is devastating.

“Galahad’s dead.”

He doesn’t stay distraught long after that and he can barely suppress a sneer in time. Can’t that man see that this goes deeper than his stupid spies and their stupid codenames? Doesn’t he understand what Valentine wants to unleash upon unsuspecting mortals?

He soon finds out that Arthur does, in fact, knows all about Valentine’s plans and has the impudence of offering him to be part of their tomorrow.

“Think of it, Gods walking amongst us once more, magic within reach. Imagine what could be achieve.”

Thing is, he doesn’t need to imagine, he has lived through it. There is a reason deities and creatures alike had slowly withdrawn from this realm, disgusted by the Men pursue of power without any care for the consequences. In retrospection, he sees now that it was the worst course of actions to take, that it left this reality open to malevolent and destructive beings worse than a mere mortal.

But it is neither here nor there, and he would laugh at Arthur’s surprise when he understand he has switched the glasses, but he much rather prefer to gloat.

“You see, the thing about being the God of thieves, among other things, is that slights of hands come naturally to me.”

So close to death, it must be easy for him to finally see him for what he truly is and Eggsy smiles cruelly at Arthur sudden panic when he realises who exactly he angered.

He’s a bit more vicious than he should be when he remove the implant from his neck, but the man doesn’t deserve his respect even in death, especially since he’s part of the reason why Harry is dead.

When he gets to HQ, he’s greeted by Merlin and Roxy, the two of them seemingly waiting for him.

“I saw and heard what happen in the dinner room. We’ll have to work fast and alone, I don’t know who else might be compromised.” Roxy opens her mouth but Merlin shakes his head sadly. “Even Oberon cannot be trusted right now.”

The Fae bites her lower lip, but ends up nodding in agreement.

Merlin quickly devises a plan and they leave Roxy in charge of destroying the satellite. He would have gone in her place, but he fears what would happen to her if she was to face that woman, the Wendigo. Roxy is far more in tune with all the realities than he is and if only a glimpse of what she truly is had rendered him so faint, he doesn’t want to risk his friend. At least he knows what he’s getting into if it gets to it.

Once he’s dressed in the suit Harry had had made for him, he doesn’t dare meet his own eyes in the mirror. There are things he isn’t yet prepared to face.

Once he’s made it inside and has managed to acquire a laptop, he relaxes slightly and it is a mistake because that’s the moment Charlie comes up behind him.

Electrocuting him is the most satisfying thing he’s done in his life even if he can’t savor the feeling long, what with running for his life from men with guns.

He’s overcome with relief when he makes it to the plane, but it doesn’t last long before Merlin tells him he needs to get back and keep Valentine from the scanner.

That time, it doesn’t go as smoothly as the first and he really doesn’t know why he expected otherwise, Lady Luck was never on good terms with him. He’s forced to ask Merlin to activate the implants and he thought it would leave him with a foul taste, but it turns out it only feels like poetic justice watching all those heads get blown. Harry died the same way, this seems like a good way to honor him.

Now that he is alone in the corridor, he finally hears the banging on the door he was leaning against and in truth he doesn’t care about anything now that the world is saved and Harry is still _dead_ , but he also cannot let innocents in distress, not when they decided to stand against Valentine’s crazy plan.

The Princess is obviously something more than what she appears, but he couldn’t care less, especially when there’s more pressing matters to attend to, namely Valentine not being dead and of course the bastard wouldn’t have an implant in his own neck, how could they have been so stupid to think he would?

So he leaves the Princess with a promise to be back to free her and ignores her offer of making it worth his while.

He’s desperate when he gets back to the control room and he doesn’t have time to lose, not when he has the lives of so many people depending on him. He tries to shoot out the window, but he runs out of bullets. Before the warlock can tell him the fastest way to Valentine, that woman comes jumping down the window.

She seems surprised when Hermes doesn’t get affected by her aura of wickedness and he is a bit too. He knows what horrible things she has done to be a Wendigo, things that shouldn’t ever be named and it would make Hermes sick any other day. But right now he isn’t, because _Harry is dead_ and he shrouds himself in Eggsy’s grief, in his pain and anger, in emotions so human he isn’t affected by her twisted _otherness_.

It is still a close call, the Wendigo more than a match for him, but he somehow manages to nick her with the tip of his poisoned blade.

He doesn’t spare a minute before impaling Valentine into one of her leg. He watches the man dying without feeling a thing. He doesn’t know what made the magic user go so completely crazy, if it was his association with the Wendigo or if she came to him later, attracted by his insanity. To be honest he doesn’t really care.

He goes back to free all the VIPs on auto-pilot, not bothering to dignify Freyja’s second offer for a shag with an answer. He can barely stand her presence, not now that Harry is dead.

Harry is dead and he is _alone_.


	2. Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!!!
> 
> After a little bit more than four months, I am finally back with the second and final part of Messenger of War, youhou~~~
> 
> I actually never expected it to be that long, as my stories are usually more around 2k at most rather than the 10k this fic is. Right now it's my longest fanfic in english, even if I suspect Only a fool will be a bit longer once its done.
> 
> So yeah, I had great fun writing it, hopefully, you'll enjoy the read :D
> 
> Also a HUGE thank you to yourefullofsurprises on tumblr for the AMAZING beta work. Seriously. First time using a beta and I did not regret a second. *hugs and kisses to you*

Percival is there to welcome them back at HQ once they get off the plane, and judging by his angry stride towards Merlin, he is not pleased to have been left in the dark. He seems to be on the war path, until one glimpse at the god’s condition makes him swear and curse softly under his breath. He detours from his initial target to stop in front of the boy, carefully sliding his fingertips on his bruised skin, the hurt and soreness disappearing in the wake of his touch.

“Seriously, Merlin, I know you are utter shite at healing magic, but it wouldn’t kill you to help out once in a while,” Percival said. However, before Merlin can defend himself, he turns to glare at the warlock, his expression, previously gentle as he soothed the boy’s hurt away, now wrathful. “I can’t believe you seriously thought I could be working with that prick. You, above all others, should know how I loathed Chester King,” he spits the name out, lips curling in a moue of disgust as if only saying it is enough to leave Percival with a bad taste in his mouth.

He would ask why they chose to work for an organisation where they all obviously disliked the man giving the orders, but Merlin is already replying to the agent.

“Oberon, you are the first to admit Fae don’t have the best track record when it comes to mortals and their well-being! How could I know for sure that you wouldn’t leave your hatred for the man aside for the sake of messing with a bigger number?”

“Because they _hacked_ James in two! And I still don’t know if he’ll make it back from this…” His voice breaks and Merlin has the decency to look guilty.

The warlock cautiously walks to the Fae, as if approaching a wounded creature, and it’s actually not a bad comparison.

“I am sorry Oberon, I was not thinking clearly. Of course you wouldn’t have associated with them.” He holds up a hand, letting it hover above the other man’s shoulder, and when he doesn’t lash out at him, letting it rest on his arm in silent comfort.

Oberon closes his eyes and inhales deeply, getting his emotions back under control. “Okay, okay. You still have a lot of groveling to do before I forgive you for thinking I’d do such a thing after what they’ve done to James, but we do have more pressing matters to take care of. You need to go to control as soon as possible, because right now Kingsman is like an army of headless chickens. I’ve given the directive to bring everyone back to HQ as our top priority, but so far only Bors and Kay have made contact and are waiting for extraction.”

“Only those two?”

“Yes, we…” Percival cuts himself off, pressing a finger on the side of his glasses. “They’ve located Hector’s body,” he says after a beat, “but without a head. Do you still want me to go and get the corpse?”

Merlin pinches the bridge of his nose for a moment, deep in thought, before answering. “No. Without a head, there’s not much anyone can gain from him. We can leave him to the usual team.” His eyes sadden while his jaws clenches determinedly, before he continues. “I need you to recover Harry’s.”

Oberon’s expression darkens at the reminder of their fallen friend, but he nods solemnly nonetheless, before stepping away from them and seemingly disappearing into thin air. It would be more surprising if they had not caught a brief glimpse of what could only be Faerie manifesting in front of him.

Once the Fae has left them, Merlin doesn’t lose a moment and starts walking towards the command center, not bothering to see if the two young agents are following him or not. They are, of course, but only because Roxy has grabbed her friend’s hand and is leading him through the corridors after the handler.

“Why did Hector being headless matter?” Roxy asks, mostly to fill the silence.

“There’s a lot you can glean from a brain if you know how to look,” Merlin explains. “Ghouls are usually the best at that kind of work, which is why we employ them in the morgue, but it would be stupid to think we’re the only ones to do so. Especially when you know their allegiance is easily bought as long as you keep them fed.”

That last part wins him a sharp look from the boy and he’s quick to reassure him.

“They’re also trustworthy concerning the rites our non-mortal employees need.”

Merlin is about to expand more on the subject, even as obviously painful as it is to him right now, but they’ve made it to the command room and the warlock has barely entered the door when already, he’s being swarmed over by frantic technicians.

Roxy leads her friend to a corner of the room where they won’t be in the way. A few minutes later, after being debriefed on the current situation, Merlin joins them, as the workstation near where they’ve taken up places turns out to be his.

Not that Merlin can spare them any attention, but the two agents are mostly okay with staying in his vicinity, waiting for him to tell them where they are needed, _if_ they are needed.

Even with his attention wholly devoted to the screens in front of him, Merlin has a gun pointed at Oberon’s head the moment he appears in front of them, his hand grasping and tugging the boy’s arm. It’s a blessing the room is in such a flurry of activity, because instead of wondering where the older agent came from, everyone just assumes they had been too busy to notice him coming in. But, no matter how busy they are, they cannot ignore Merlin’s reaction and his ice cold tone.

“Percival, what the bloody fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Oberon doesn’t seem overly concerned by all the firearms pointed at him, people taking their cue from Merlin, but there’s an urgency in his voice that makes them hesitate even when Merlin doesn’t waver. “The boy needs to come with me.” And before Merlin can tell him that the boy doesn’t _need_ to go anywhere right now, he adds like dropping a bombshell, “Harry’s alive.”

*

Now that he is standing in front of Ares’ unconscious form, now that he is no longer drowning in his grief and sorrow, it is easy to sense the flicker of life that is Ares. Oh, it is nothing compared to the roaring blaze he had seen that night that seems so long ago, but it is there, and the god wants to cradle that spark in his hands, to warm it and cajole it to its previous glory.

However, even if Ares is not _dead_ , he isn’t alive either. The body currently lying in the hospital bed is a nearly-empty husk, only a tenuous thread of life still linking it to wherever Ares’ consciousness has decided to withdraw to.

Not that he doesn’t have strong suspicions as to where he is. There are not a lot of places a god would go when not in its corporeal form.

“I myself do not know the way to the Underworld, but I know someone who could show you in exchange for fair payment.” Oberon finally breaks the silence from where he’s been leaning against a wall, watching over the two gods.

“I appreciate the offer, but I’ll be just fine.” He snorts, no true heat in his words as he gives the Fae a pointed look.

“Ah, of course,” Oberon looks sheepish for a moment, before smiling, clearly amused at his own obliviousness. “ _Guide to the Underworld_ , I had forgotten.”

“It’s okay, it’s not as if I remembered myself until now,” and maybe he should not be revealing as much to a near stranger, should not confide in someone who probably casts an even better glamour than Roxy. However, he knows that this kind of magic doesn’t affect him any longer, that whatever he reveals, he says of his own volition, because his instincts have yet to let him down and right now? Right now his instinct is to trust. To have faith.

“But could I ask for a favor? Our bodies need to be undisturbed for the duration of the trip.”

Oberon isn’t fast enough to hide his look of surprise at the request, but instead of trying to look unaffected, a pleased, nearly _honored_ expression settles on his face. “I’ll guard the door, you shall remain uninterrupted. And not as a favor.”

It’s the god’s turn to look surprised. A Fae that is willingly passing up the chance of a favor owed, and not just from anyone, but from a god? The world truly is changing, and he thinks he likes it. He nods in gratitude before sitting down in the uncomfortable chair beside Ares’ bedside. He takes a moment to tuck a loose strand of hair behind the god’s ear, letting the gesture end in a light caress of his cheek. Then, after a bracing breath, he takes hold of his hand and closes his eyes.

*

_Hermes follows his fellow gods and goddesses slowly to the shores of the Styx where Charon is awaiting, ready to take his last passage._

_Each step seems heavier than the last, his unwillingness to leave the world he’s called home for so many centuries weighing him down the closer he gets to the river. However, the decision has been made. Like other pantheons before them, they have decided to retreat from the reality shared with mortals, disgusted by what they’ve made of the world. Hermes’ like-minded family members, those who thought they should start taking a more active stance in the world again instead of leaving, are unfortunately the minority._

_Zeus had decided, chose the same as so many other pantheons, and no deity would ever part from their family, no matter how wrong they believed them to be._

 

Old footprints in the sand lead him close to the shore and he is unsurprised to see Charon’s boat moored at the quay.

“Hello Hermes,” smiles the woman sitting on board beside the ferryman.

“Persephone,” he smiles at his half-sister, but stays standing on the banks as she stays seated in the boat, neither venturing on the planks of the quay.

“It took you a long time, but I always knew you would be back here,” she says.

He doesn’t know what gave her the conviction, but he believes her. Persephone was always so very sure and confident in herself.

“Did he cross the River?” It is unbelievably good to see her and he truly wishes he could exchange pleasantries with her, but she isn’t the one he’s looking for.

“No.” The goddess sees no point in pretending she doesn’t understand who he is talking about. “Ares watched its flow for a long time, but never came near. He’s been gone for a long time now.”

A curse makes it past his lips, earning him a chuckle.

“I’m sorry to cut this reunion short, but I have to find him.”

She nods, understanding. “Charon would still take you across were you to decide to come back after your journey.”

It is tempting to accept the offer, to finally reunite with most of his pantheon, but he’s made that choice a long time ago and he’s not changing it. “I don’t think we’ll be back.”

“I suspected as much.” There’s a certain sadness in her eyes, but she also seems oddly proud. “I know not the direction he went, but you might want to seek out Bastet; she is known to roam the Underworld.”

He inclines his head in gratitude and turns back towards the footprints, not staying to look at the boat’s departure. He’s said his goodbyes a long time ago.

 

_Dragging behind as he is, he is the only one who sees Ares veering from the group, walking along the River, but not going any nearer. His pace is decisive, until it suddenly isn’t, and the god stops, turning back to look at the pantheon. Their eyes meet over the distance and Hermes would ask him what he thought he was doing, except he already knows._

_Ares is defying Zeus’ authority, going against what has been decided, exiling himself._

_There’s a sadness in his eyes as he casts a last look at his family, but something in the set of his jaw also conveys his determination. He offers a last smile at Hermes, before turning his back to them and continuing his route._

_He only realises that he has stopped in his tracks as he watches Ares disappearing gradually in the mist enveloping the banks, until the only proof of his passage are the footprints left in the sand._

_Hermes looks at them a long time, until he too turns to look at his family for what he has no doubt will be the last time. He takes them in, burns the images in his mind, hopes the memory will never leave him, however bittersweet it is._

_Then Hermes follows the footprints in the sand that lead away from the shore, away from what feels like giving up._

_He feels others looking at his retreating back, but doesn’t turn around to look who among them decide to follow him._

 

He doesn’t go looking for Bastet.

He remembers coming across another set of footprints, not Ares’ - older ones, ones he knew the other god was following. Ones that he knew would lead back to the realm they had just left, but through another doorway than the one they had just gone through to reach the Underworld.

Ones that they had not been the first to follow, as several more sets of footsteps could be seen in the sand of the riverbanks, then the dust of the maze-like corridors, then the mud near the forest.

He had known the Egyptian goddess pretty well, knew that she had deliberately left traces of her passage so that others unused to the Underworld’s particularities could find their way back to the world their hearts longed for.

Wherever she is now, she cannot help him.

 

_Hermes keeps a steady pace, but never catches up to Ares, not that he is really trying to. He doesn’t think either of them would be really good company right now._

_He walks a long time, through roads and hallways he knows intimately for having roamed them frequently over the years, but for the first time, instead of going back to the entrance from where he came in, he’ll actually leave by the doorway he’ll find at the end of the path._

_When he reaches his destination, there’s no one in sight and he is not surprised in the least. Ares would have no way of knowing he was being followed and thus, he had no reason to delay his return to what is now solely the mortal’s realm._

_Hermes, for his part, elects to wait at the gate for a bit. See if others have come after them. At first he refuses to think otherwise, but more and more time passes and there are no signs of anyone else. He decides that they’re probably only lingering for a last look and that he gains nothing by waiting for them here. It’d be better for him to go find Ares on the other side and help him prepare for their family’s return. Or at least, part of it._

_Hermes cannot stand being by himself any longer and he, at least, has the knowledge he is not truly alone. Ares will surely be happy to see him, even if they’ve not ever been the closest. Maybe things will change now. He hopes they will, or they’ll each come to regret their decision._

_The world has already changed without them, if they want to survive, they will have to adapt._

_Somehow, he has no doubts Ares will have no trouble adapting, the other god ever so resourceful._

 

A recent set of footprint strays from old ones, ancient ones. He follows them without hesitation. He knows not why the other god has elected to walk a different path, but it is of no import. What matters is that he catches up with him, once and for all.

The corridor makes a turn and when he follows it, when he finally sets eyes on Ares’ back, anxiety rises in his veins.

He doesn’t understand where the nervousness comes from, as he speeds up toward the god. This isn’t Orpheus and Eurydice’s tale. Neither of them will disappear, forever lost and out of reach, if they are to gaze at one another.

So close to him at last, he cannot help himself.

He calls out a name, but not the one he’s been saying more and more when they’re in private.

Now that he has traveled through the tunnels and corridors of both the Underworld and distant memories, he’s starting to realise what he suspects the other has known for a long time.

Ancient obsolete gods might be what they had become millennia ago, but it is no longer who they are. They are at the dawn of a new age and he doesn’t want them to enter it looking towards the past.

“Harry.”

Harry turns to look at him, warm open smile and relieved eyes, and Eggsy glimpses into an echo of what could have been as their eyes meet.

 

_Hermes calls out a name, the one he’s been saying with more and more regularity, “Ares.”_

_Ares turns to look at him, eyes gleaming with a savage light, his grin blood-thirsty._

 

“You were making me choose,” he accuses as he stops in front of him. It’s all clear now, the way Harry would tensed up minutely every time he would call him by his other name, how he would refrain from calling him anything when he could get away with it.

No wonder being with Harry had been so confusing at times. Eggsy had been trying to remember his past life and Ares, not understanding that Ares as he knew him no longer existed. His years alone in the mortal world had changed him irrevocably, much as Eggsy’s twenty-something years with no recollection of who he truly was had made him different. Gods they might still be, but they were not merely Hermes and Ares anymore.

Even if it would be easy to go back to what they had known, easier than what they would be attempting once they make it back, it would mean killing off parts of themselves. Something Eggsy never wants to do and he that he would never have thought Harry would stand for.

“I would have been anything you wanted me to be, Eggsy. I am tired.” _Of being alone_ is left unsaid but it resonates in the silence between them louder than if he had yelled it. Eggsy’s heart clenches in sympathy as he remembers that Harry has had centuries upon centuries of feeling those little embers of life just there at the edge of his perception, always wondering when one would finally ignite. It should come as no surprise that he would be prepared to do anything to stay with the one being alive who understands him.

“You would have been what I _wanted_ , but not what _I needed_!” He blushes by what he reveals at his outburst and tries to cover it up quickly. “Not what the _world_ needs…” he amends lamely, looking down.

Fingers gently cup his chin, raising his head, forcing him to look Harry in the eyes. He can only see deep affection in them and he would call it something else, if not for his sudden irrational fear that he is reading too much into this.

Harry whispers his name reverently before pressing their lips together and he cannot help but smile into the contact too as he feels his worlds _finally_ sliding in place together.

*

A chaste kiss soon becomes a dozen passionate ones and they lose themselves into each other for longer than they really ought to.

To Eggsy’s surprise, he’s the one stepping back from their embrace, Harry chasing after him. However, even if he would like nothing more than to draw out the moment, he would also very much like to get Harry in a bed as soon as possible and beds are something of a rarity on the paths of the Underworld.

Harry finds no fault in that argument, and reluctantly lets go of the boy, even if he stays close enough that Eggsy can feel his warmth as they start walking, making their way back to the ancient footprints.

There are of course other roads one can take out of the Underworld, but Bastet knew where she was going. This is the simplest, fastest way. Trying to walk another path would only lead to getting lost. Except, of course, if, like in Eggsy’s case, you have a particular affiliation with the Underworld.

They walk in silence, but it’s a comfortable one. Strangely, it seems as if they’re getting to know each other again, as if they’re wordlessly saying more now than they’ve been these past few months.

Eggsy is about to take Harry’s hand in his, when something glimmering in the distance makes him frown.

“That… That shouldn’t be there.”

Harry makes a noise of agreement, his body tensing as if in preparation of a fight.

It soon becomes clear they won’t need to resort to violence, but they don’t relax at the sight of the metallic gates barring their way. They seem immovable, an ancient script Eggsy cannot read, but still understands to his very his core, running along the arch.

“These doors are sealed for both gods and mortals,” he states needlessly. Surely Harry feels it too, judging by the way he is frowning unhappily, as if the doors have personally offended him. “But,” Eggsy adds, smirking cockily, “there ain’t a lock that’s stopped me before.”

He makes to kneel before the door, so he’ll have better access, but Harry grabs him by the shoulder and pushes him behind him. Before he can think of protesting, Harry takes a couple of step back and, with the boost it gives him, simply kicks the doors open.

“The thing with being both,” Harry grins smugly, “is that we’re also neither.”

“Show off!” Eggsy exclaims, not without true admiration, even if he’s not as impressed by the show of strength as he had been back at the pub all those months ago. He cannot help but smile in delight, laughing when Harry very obviously preens like a peacock under his eyes, but still looking at Eggsy with a fondness the boy hadn’t let himself see until now.

“I’ll let you unlock the next one,” Harry concedes, as they cross the broken doors’ threshold.

Eggsy doesn’t ask him what makes him so sure there’s going to be another. It would actually be far more surprising if that was the only one. Whoever is responsible for that gate knew what they were doing. They blocked off the fastest way back to the mortal world, the only easy path the gods and goddesses rebelling against the authority of their pantheons could have followed.

Not only that, but Eggsy would bet good money he doesn’t have that whoever they were, they waited until the last of the Underworld-affiliated deity had gone through before blocking off the road. He actually wouldn’t be surprised to learn he was the last to make it back to the mortal realm, the others he had waited for at first, stranded in lands they were unfamiliar with. They probably still are here, all of them still simply gods, none of them having been reborn to mortal parents, thus becoming of two worlds and neither at the same time.

He has no idea how many more deities are stuck wandering in this reality. There’s no doubt in his mind that he and Harry are the first ones to be back here. The first ones to see that aberration, the first ones to get an explanation as to why those flickering embers of life just at the edge of their perception never ignited.

*

Eggsy doesn’t unlock any of the subsequent gates, but only because they don’t want to linger in the Underworld longer than they need to and they both agree Harry’s way is the fastest. Time doesn’t work the same here, unbridled by the restriction of mortals’ minds. When Hermes had waited before joining Ares so long ago, it had been hours at best for him, but Ares had already spent centuries alone in the mortal realm. With friends waiting for them, they don’t want to risk any of that time discrepancy.

There are nearing the lands where all worlds start merging together, the forest-frontiers where Faerie bleeds into the Underworld and both are connected to the mortal world. Eggsy remembers the air around these parts being cool but pleasant, so he is somewhat worried when he sees their breaths forming a little mist around them and starts shivering into the cold wind.

Harry must share his concerns, because he is stepping closer to him, tension back in his body. Who knows what bad surprise they’re in for this time?

They stop dead in their tracks when the path steers them out of the woods, leading along the banks of the Lake.

The Lake is one of those ever-lasting and never-changing parts of nature. It’s one of the stitches keeping the layers of the different realities together. All the rivers of the Underworld converge at this very point. Unbounded mortal souls swirl into its water, waiting to be pulled into a new life, and powerful magic trickles from it to the Faerie lands.

Or at least, that was how it had been.

The Lake is still there and Eggsy can still feel the power of this place humming under his skin, but the Lake is now frozen solid.

The sight makes him sick and only Harry’s arm settling around his waist stops him from vomiting. Not that Harry is unaffected, but much as wrapping himself in human emotions had help him deal with Gazelle, wrapping themselves into each other now allows them to block off the horrid feeling of unnaturalness.

Gazelle had been terrifying and wicked, had made Eggsy uneasy in her presence, but that had been due to them being clear opposites, each the twisted reflection of the other. Because for each benevolent entity, an evil counterpart needed to exist to preserve the balance of existence. The Wendigo had been such a counterpart to him.

But this? This is sickening in another way entirely. Gazelle herself would probably have been badly affected by such a vision. Such a change in what should have been a constant of all realities goes against the natural order of existence itself. The gates they had all but destroyed on their way had been like that too, but on a lesser scale. There had been ways to get around them, even if those that had been all but imprisoned in the maze-like domain of the Underworld had not known them.

This, though, this is inescapable: the magic and souls trapped under miles and miles of ice are just that. _Trapped_. They have nowhere to go.

“That’s why Arthur isn’t coming back, isn’t it? Merlin’s, I mean.” It’s not really a question, more of a statement. The frozen Lake is an explanation to many things happening in the mortal world, things Eggsy has not yet really experienced but that his friends have told him about.

He can feel anger start to boil inside Harry, an anger he more than shares with the man. Whoever is responsible for this tampering, whatever their motive, they’re affecting the realities more than the mortals’ quests for absolute power ever did. But more than the doom and destruction they’ve condemned the world to, it’s the grief they’ve carelessly caused that enrage both him and Harry.

For years Merlin has been waiting for a prophesied return diligently, burying his yearning deep inside of him so he could be helpful to the few friends he had made along the way. If it wasn’t for Harry fucking off to the Underworld after getting shot, if it wasn’t for Eggsy following after him, the man would have waited forever.

It’s no wonder Harry is furious. Eggsy himself feels outraged on Merlin’s behalf and he’s only known the wizard for a few months. From all of Merlin’s stories back when they were standing vigil over Harry during his first coma, it is more than obvious that two men are close friends and have been for centuries. Merlin is as good as _pantheon_ to him, and no one fucks with Harry’s pantheon without consequences.

He’s trying to think of a way to melt the frozen Lake, to return it to its original state, to finally be able to help Merlin like he had wanted to all these months ago, when Harry’s hand slides inside the jacket of Eggsy’s ruined suit, taking out a lighter from the inside pocket Eggsy knew for a fact had been empty since before his fight with Gazelle. Not that it really matters here. Even in the icy air, power is still thrumming, in reach for anyone to grab. Harry had wanted a lighter to be there, so a lighter was there for him. Eggsy just doesn’t know why he had to look in his pocket instead of his own, but his questions are soon forgotten when Harry throws the grenade masquerading as a lighter with an expert flick of his wrist and a feral smile.

He is not prepared for the full force of the explosion, but luckily for him, Harry is, and he holds him steady, still drawing power from around them. Held in Harry’s arms, Eggsy’s back to his front, they stand a while, watching the fire burning at the ice. Anywhere else and the fire would have died out a long time ago by the lack of fuel. But aided by Harry’s not-so-gentle push, the magic released as the ice melts ignites in turn, reacting predictably to re-establish the natural order.

The air is decidedly warmer when they finally turn away, even if things aren’t yet back to what they should be. But they have already lost more time than they probably have to spare and there’s nothing more they can do. The unbounded souls are soon to be freed from their frozen prison and Merlin’s wait is coming to an end.

*

The doorway to the mortal realm stands in front of them at last, and Eggsy feels excitement coursing through his veins. Soon they’ll be home, soon they’ll be with their family again, that pantheon they have chosen as their own.

He turns to Harry, unable to resist the temptation of his lips. Harry turns the small peck in a loving kiss, smiles pressed together in a gentle caress.

Eggsy steps back and breathes deeply. They can’t see the Lake anymore, but it isn’t far and the liberated magic can probably be felt even back on the mortal world. The magic wraps around them, nearly sentient, undoubtedly grateful, and Eggsy takes the gift it is offering.

He raises a hand to cup Harry’s cheek and smile when the man leans into the contact without hesitation.

“Harry Hart, also known as Ares; God of War, Protector of the reborns, Fire-bearer, Guardian of the open roads.” _This_ is what the magic is offering, a binding of a sort, the chance of a truly new start.

“You’re an oracle now?” Harry teases, turning his head so his lips brush against his palm.

“Fuck no, I’ve got enough shit on my plate as it is.” As soon as they cross to the other side, the moment will end and Eggsy won’t miss it. The magic is exhilarating, but he cares very little for it. Power has never been something he strived for.

“Yes, of course,” Harry agrees. “Although, if you’d allow me some small changes?” Eggsy nods and lets his hand drop down at his side while Harry raises one of his to cup the nape of his neck, fingers playing with the fine hair at its base. “Eggsy Unwin, also known as Hermes; God of Trade,” a small sound of surprise escapes him at that, even if Harry doesn’t let it interrupt him. Quite frankly, even if has some doubts as to where this is leading, Eggsy would never have thought Harry would give him Trade as his first duty. Not that he is in any way displeased by it. He had never minded being a Messenger, but it had meant that, more often than not, his other duties had been put aside to answer other deities’ demands. “Protector of thieves and athletes, Guide to the Underworld…” Harry pauses here, eyes warm with affection and adoration. The magic around them seem to be electrifying every inch of skin, as if feeling the same anticipation Eggsy does. “Messenger of War.”

Eggsy gasps openly at that, before throwing himself into Harry’s arms and kissing him with passion. He had expected of course the change in titles, knew it was coming, but he had thought Harry would use the magic to irremediably bind them together. He had been expecting the words “War’s Messenger” to leave his mouth, been expecting to be _possessed_. Not that he would have minded.

But this is better. This is not about ownership, it is about companionship.

As Eggsy had made sure to affiliate Harry to him in naming him the Guardian of the open roads, because good Trade needed them preserved, Harry has affiliated him to War. They’ll be equals and complete each other, without impinging on the other’s duties.

The kiss gentles and Harry reluctantly takes a few steps back before offering his hand for Eggsy to take.

Eggsy doesn’t hesitate, linking their fingers together as they turn to face the doorway, ready to leave. For good this time.

A smile tugs at his lips, one he knows is echoed by Harry.

They are going back to the mortal world, they’re going back home, and they’re going as they should have been that first time.

Together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can also find me here on [tumblr](http://elletromil.tumblr.com)


	3. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is the true end of Messenger of War.
> 
> There might be a companion piece to it, focusing on Oberon!Percival, but it won't be for now. I'm going to try and finish Only a fool before starting any new big project.
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy!
> 
> Thanks again to the lovely yourefullofsurprises over on tumblr for the awesome beta work!

Eggsy is tied to a chair, bloodied and bruised, but when the man who’s been hitting him for the past hour points a gun at his head, he starts laughing, the delighted sounds incongruous in a room where only groans and yells of pain have ever echoed in.

He gets punch for the umpteenth time, split lip reopening, laugh dying, but still smiling eerily, as if he’s on to a joke no one else in the room is.

“The fuck you find so funny? Think I won’t shoot? That it? You think I won’t? If you ain’t talking, there’s no reason for us to keep you alive.” He might have felt a bit more threatened if the man waving the gun had been the one calling the shots, but it isn’t the case.

Which is why he looks at the woman propped against the wall when he starts talking, the first words he has said since being captured.

“Don’t you know? You shouldn’t shoot the messenger,” he tries to smile charmingly, but he suspects the blood kind of ruins the effect.

“I might have felt more magnanimous if you hadn’t killed half my men,” she looks highly unimpressed, but he can see a little flash of triumph in her eyes as she steps closer. She clearly thinks they’re finally getting somewhere, that he’s cracking and Eggsy would laugh in her face because she couldn’t be further than the truth. It would take a lot more than what she could even begin to imagine to make him talk.

“I was only defending myself,” he replies in all honesty. It is the truth as his mission had only been to deliver a warning to the woman to, if not cease her dubious activities, at least adhere to a certain honor code. Considering she had sent all her men after him following their little chit-chat, he guesses she isn’t taking any of the options offered to her. Too bad for her. “Anyway, I’m not talking about the old saying, but the new one.”

“What are you on about?” She’s still coming closer, not catching on in the slight change of atmosphere in the room, not noticing the way her men are starting to look uneasy.

It has barely been a year since V-day and even though the world had gone to hell during the first month, things had slowly started to settle down. Whispers had started filtering through the masses that _something_ was taking notice of the world again. Some talked of a new world order. Others talked of an old one.

Not that these men care about that kind of chatter. What they care about are more the stories running in their circles of a single person taking down anyone coming between them and their objective. Their description always changes; sometimes it’s a man, sometimes a woman, old or young, tall or short. But no matter the differences there’s always one detail that is ever the same: that person always wear a suit. A suit like the one the guy currently tied to a chair is wearing.

But what makes their survival instincts go haywire are more the other rumors, the one that have been dismissed as too unbelievable, no better than scary stories told around a campfire. Stories of carnages only an overactive imagination can summon. There’s another recurrent detail in all of those. The mention that whoever is wearing that suit is some kind of messenger.

“I told you, I’m War’s Messenger.”

The first couple of times Eggsy had said it that way, Harry had protested weakly, looking conflicted. On the one hand, it isn’t exactly the truth and he had expressly used the other wording to put them on equal footing. However, on the other hand, Harry Hart is still a possessive bastard and as long as Eggsy is getting a kick out of it too, he does not mind indulging his dear boy.

The men have unconsciously taken a step back while the woman sneers in impatience raising her hand with the clear intention of hitting him. But before the hit can land, her arm is gripped tight and she’s rashly spun around to look unto the furious face of a man in a suit, a man no one has noticed entering the room. He smiles darkly in what only a fool would call politeness and her blood runs cold at its very sight.

“I’m the Messenger,” Eggsy breaks the heavy silence that has fallen on the room flippantly. “That’s War.” He waves at the newcomer, everyone else still too shocked to take notice he’s untied his hands from their bonds. “Sorta.”

They’re all more focused on how Harry is effortlessly twisting the woman’s arm hard enough that it is seconds away from breaking. “And I don’t like people hurting what’s mine.”

**Author's Note:**

> So for those who are not familiar with  [Dryad](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dryad) or with  [Wendigo](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wendigo)


End file.
